


Beautiful

by potatoesarenotforsex



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, KickTheStickz - Freeform, Kinkmeme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatoesarenotforsex/pseuds/potatoesarenotforsex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kickthestickz Coffeeshop AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful

It had seemed like a brilliant plan at the time. He'd loaded his student films onto labelled USB drives, waved a final goodbye to his parents and his childhood home, and jumped on the first train into town; a media and film degree in one hand and a bunch of ambitious dreams in the other. The air in London had already tasted of possibility, filling his lungs the second he'd stepped onto the platform. It had seemed easy, but what PJ had failed to take into account was the possibility that no one, not a single person, would want to see his work.

At first he'd taken it personally, but after more than three weeks of pointless, unfulfilled meetings, he had come to the conclusion that the world was little more than a shuffling of souls, each glaring at the other, jealous of their perceived happiness. Finally, at the suggestion of one of the poor secretaries who'd had to return and explain that Mr-Producer-Number-Eighteen would no longer be able to meet with him, PJ had walked into the Starbucks on the corner of King Street and asked if the position advertised on the front window was still vacant.

Now, five cappuccinos, two hot chocolates and a cluster of lattes later, it's 7:02 and the morning rush has finally bubbled into a steady stream. Wiping his hand on the green apron, PJ picks up the next order (strong chai latte with one sugar) with a smile lurking on the corner of his lips as he checks the clock again.

The thin black hands read 7:03; only nine minutes to go.

His first shift had been a Monday too, but a far less successful one than this. He'd already split most of the soy milk within half an hour and the manager had disagreed with his coffee proportions, so by the time _he_ strolled into the café, PJ was just about ready to pack up and run away to Aberdeen. He hadn't even noticed his arrival at first, too busy stubbing his toe against the base of the counter, mentally reliving his embarrassing morning.

"Is this where I order the coffee?"

PJ looked up, startled to be faced with two round eyes directly in front of his and a long, lanky body leaning over the edge of the counter. After staring back at PJ's blank expression, the customers gaze flicked downwards at where PJ was kicking a moment earlier.

"Or are you here as part of the entertainment then?"

He was northern, or at least his accent was. The fringe was a little too long and needed flicking out of his eyelashes, just as his over-lengthy arms tumbled onto the counter, too gangly for elegant function. He smiled, and it was a reckless grin that bordered on manic but somehow completely adorable and PJ couldn't help but smile back at him.

It was 7:15 in the morning and, at the counter of Starbucks on King Street, on his very first shift, PJ might just have fallen in love.

Finally coming to his senses, PJ had grabbed a cup and a pen and cleared his throat nervously.

"What can I get you today?"

"Hot chocolate please- with double marshmallows." He'd blinked, then smiles wider still, "and sprinkles if you have them!"

A sugar lover then, thought PJ, as he scribbled the order into the boxes on the side of the cup. His writing was messier than usually and he could feel the boy's eyes watching him as he wrote 'sprinkles' onto the cup, even though he didn't even know if they offered them. For some reason, he wanted to make this order as perfect as it can be.

"Can I grab a name for that order?"

His lips had pursed for a moment before deciding-

"Harry Potter."

That had been the first time, Harry Potter, then Pikachu the next Monday, and Captain America the following one; whatever his name was, he would arrive at 7:15 without fail, every Monday morning. The fourth Monday, PJ was out the back, fetching milk, before he realized it was 7:15 and came rushing back inside, almost dropping the four litres of milk in the process, but there he was- waiting for PJ to be free and ready with his diabetic order and another fictional name.

PJ wouldn't expect today to be any exception, and he was right right- just as the clock hand slots into place over the large '3', the front door swings open and in he walks. Surprisingly, there is no happy smile and goofy gags this time, and he orders with a monotonous tone before shuffling off to the side to wait. He feels like asking what's wrong, or if he could do anything to help, but there's the distant between them that PJ's always ignored; he's just someone buying a beverage and obsessing over a stranger can never end well.

He makes the hot chocolate, adding three marshmallows and far too many sprinkles, trading the warm words he wishes he could share for sweet additions, and goes to hand over the drink, but suddenly realizes he never asked for a name.

Standing at the counter with the drink in his hand, he suddenly has an idea and seizes the marker off the bench, scribbling 'I think you have a beautiful smile' onto the cup, heart pounding madly, before calling out, "Hot chocolate?" and watching as his favourite customer walk over and take it from him with a weak attempt at a grin, before shuffling out the door again.

No sooner was he gone than PJ realizes what a fool he is; covert messages on Starbucks cups? What was he thinking! He could only hope that the message would never be read and it could all be forgotten, just a hazy memory of dodging a potentially devastating embarrassing conversation. Chewing on his lower lip, his heart suddenly drops as the door opens again and a familiar figure re-enters the store, and PJ immediately busies himself rearranging the stack of napkins.

"Hey- PJ?"

He looks up sharply- "How do you know my name?"

For the first time that morning, the stranger smiles, and then he points at the nametag clipped onto PJ's shirt.

"Oh, right." He follows the gaze down to his shirt, and then glances back up again, unsure of what to say next. "Is your hot chocolate okay? Did I do something wrong? I can always make another one if you-" A hand reaches over the counter and presses an long finger firmly against PJ's lips, cutting his sentence short. With the other hand, he pulls the cup into up next to his face and a warm, genuine smile graces his lips as he pulls the finger away.

"Thank you, PJ." He says PJ like is a foreign treat, savouring the sound longer than needed. His eyes never budging, he leans over and takes a napkin from PJ and writes a short message, blocking PJ's view so he can't make out the words. Wordlessly, he hands it to PJ and walks out of the store again.

PJ holds up the flimsy material, squinting to decipher the appalling handwriting.

_I think you're beautiful too. And because you never actually asked, its Chris (my name)  
_

Underneath he'd written a mobile number and signed it with a smiley face, perfectly matching PJ's mad grin as he tucks the napkin into his back pocket and gets back to work, all at once inundated with joy and lament at the thought of next Monday morning and when he'd get to see Chris again. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not A Boring Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587263) by [softsocks (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/softsocks)




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